


Mrs. General

by MercuryGray



Series: An Agreeable Consort [1]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7073716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/pseuds/MercuryGray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A minor addition to Season Two: Martha Washington comes to Valley Forge, and Ben Tallmadge learns a little more about successful marriages, and Mrs. General.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mrs. General

**Author's Note:**

> I was first introduced to Martha Washington through the Dear America book set at Valley Forge, and it really ground my gears that we didn't get her in Season Two of TURN -- which was why I was super excited we finally get a chance to meet her in Season 3. And she was so lovely! So, I decided to go and add her back in where she belongs -- in a very small upstairs room in the Issac Potts house during the winter of 1777. Many historians relate Martha as being a woman devoted to her children, and I'd like to think she was also very devoted, as I've written her here, to her husband's 'work family' of aides and officers in camp.
> 
> We see hardly anything of Ben and his father, and his own mother is dead by the time the story begins -- so it's interesting to me to place these two characters together, even for a brief scene. Apologies for any serious mistakes in the timeline. Any historical inaccuracies are entirely my own, and the product of an overeager mind.

Ben both hated and loved his intelligence briefings with his Commander in Chief. With the army in winter quarters and little planned in the way of action, he knew that his reports were more vital than ever as Washington planned and reviewed his strategy for the coming year.  And there was the distraction of it to consider -- for with every passing day, Ben knew that there were a thousand other concerns weighing heavier and heavier on Washington's mind - not the least of which was whether he would even _ have _ an army to command next year. Day after day he knew the green baize-topped desk in the General's study was covered with casualty figures, court martial proceedings, and lists of deserters, a thousand seemingly inconsequential lists making what had been an already small force even smaller.

 

It was his job to give the Commander hope, to give him something to cling to, the idea that when the ground thawed and the temperatures rose a little they would be in a good place, a strong place, from which to attack their enemy.

 

But intelligence seemed to Ben to be growing even thinner on the ground than winter forage, and he was having a hard time padding his reports with enough actionable material to make the meetings worth having. And - worse still - he was quite certain that Washington knew it.  

 

Today, though, the Commander in Chief seemed more restless than usual, checking the clock on the mantlepiece behind Ben with frightening regularity, his eyes (usually so fixed on the person to whom he was listening) drawn, over and over, to the window and the gathering snow outside, and to one of the letters on his desk, over which his hand lingered with a kind of territorial intent, as though he were afraid someone might take it away from him, deprive him of its contents.

 

Ben was just about to summarize the last report from one of their more reliable scouts (a man whose information he usually saved for last, since it was almost always best) when there was a knock at the doorframe. Washington jerked to attention, every limb in his body expectant and alert.

 

“Sir.” Billy Lee was at the door. “They’re just up the road, sir.”

 

Washington rose with little hidden delight, remembering that he had company just as he was ready to flee the room and composing himself once more. “That will be all for today, Tallmadge,” he said crisply, the meeting clearly over.

 

Ben glanced at the rest of his briefing. “But, sir --”

 

“Another time, Tallmadge,” the General said, stronger this time, his intention clear. The meeting was finished. Ben tried to master the indignant frown doubtless gracing his face, and stood, moving his papers back into his folio as quickly as he could. Not quick enough for Washington, though, it seemed -- for the General had already left by the time he’d finished, a matter of a quick minute.

 

“And thank  _ you _ , sir,” the intelligence officer muttered sarcastically to the empty office, sighing in frustration and making his way out into the hallway. He half considered dropping into the back room where the General’s aides worked, if only to feel like he had accomplished something in the last week by standing in the same room as diligence and effort. He wasn’t sure what was bothering him more -- that Washington had left early, or that he had had so little to report to him that such an occurrence was even possible.  But the back room was empty.  _ Some holiday I don’t know about?  _ He wondered. They’d been working diligently when he’d arrived.

 

He retrieved his hat and cloak from the pegs in the hall, and made his way outside -- only to run into a veritable wall of ADCs, every man-jack of them crowding the front door, ostensibly to get a look at whoever was arriving outside, talking in low voices amongst themselves.

 

“Nice sleigh, isn’t it?”

 

“Bets on how tired he looks tomorrow, lads -- ooof! Steady on!”

 

“Now, none of that. There’s nothing improper about it. He’s entitled, after the work he does putting up with you lot the rest of the year.” The speaker turned, observing that they had company. “Trying to get out, Tallmadge?”

 

“If you wouldn’t mind, Tilghman,” Ben said, nodding to the others. “What’s all this about?”

 

“Important arrival,” Hamilton said from the front of the group, grinning widely. “You’ll see.”

 

Feeling little point in arguing or forcing his way through, and, perhaps, just a little intrigued, Ben watched the progress of the sleigh up the road until it stopped in front of headquarters, the virtue of his height giving him some advantage from the back of the group. As soon as the driver had drawn his team to a stop, Billy Lee was springing forward, through the snow drifts, to help the passenger, a woman, down. On firm ground again, she drew back the hood of her cloak to see better, revealing a woman of middle years, with dark hair tucked under a cap in the fashion of well-mannered married women. Unremarkable, save for one thing -- her smile. She was smiling as though she fully expected great happiness to await her at Valley Forge -- a sentiment worthy of some note, especially in this weather.

 

“Who is  _ that _ ?” Ben asked, confused. Snickers from the rest of the group. 

 

“Haven’t you ever seen the Commander’s wife before, Tallmadge?” someone asked.

 

Suddenly the General’s restlessness, his distraction, clicked together, and Ben watched, entranced, as his commanding officer picked his way through the snowdrifts, without a cloak or a hat, to greet this diminutive woman with a kiss on both of her gloved hands.  _ His wife.  _

 

So this was the famous Lady Washington.

 

Ben knew little of Mrs. Washington, having joined the General’s staff late, but had often heard her spoken of in good terms -- a woman of the ‘pocket venus’ type, small and adorable, and at her husband’s side, it seemed the truth -- though at past six feet tall, the General dwarfed most men of his acquaintance, let alone the women. Against others shorter than himself he seemed imposing and aloof, but here, with this creature by his side, his attitude seemed inestimably tender, holding her hand as she made her way through the snow, stooping so that she might easier converse with him, his usually solemn, concerned face creased into a genuine smile of his own-- the first smile, Ben realized, that he’d seen on his commander’s face in months.

 

Suddenly the bitterness that had followed his shortened meeting seemed petty.  _ This is the first he’s seen of her in ...what, six months?   _ he realized.  _ And arriving in a snowstorm, too.  _ Of course he’d be anxious and distracted -- he’d every right to be!  The crowd at the door pressed back to admit the couple, each man bowing a little to greet Mrs. Washington with his own varied “Madam” or “Ma’am.” 

 

And she - kind angel! -- answered them all back! “Hello, Tench -- hand still bothering you in this cold?” “Not much, ma’am.” “Alex, still writing?” “Always, ma’am.” She knew them all, or almost all, especially those who had been at her husband’s last winter camp, in Morristown. Those names or faces she didn’t know her husband supplied, and she greeted each one in turn, her gaze clear and direct, committing faces to memory. Finally, they came through the thinning crowd to Ben. “Major Benjamin Tallmadge, one of my intelligence officers,” Washington explained. “He is not usually here at headquarters above once a week.”

 

Ben bowed, as low as he was able. “Mrs. Washington.”

 

“A pleasure to meet you, Major Tallmadge,” Mrs. Washington said, smiling. And, looking at that smile, Ben was convinced she meant it.

 

Formalities dismissed, the pair disappeared into Washington’s office, the General asking Billy Lee, before the door closed, for more firewood, and the crowd of aides dispersed back to their own duties, snickering among themselves in low voices at the closed door and what was going on behind it. Ben considered the door, and smiled sadly to himself. 

 

Silly, really, to think an intelligence report could have cheered the Commander while he was expecting  _ that.  _

 

There were subtle changes at Headquarters after Mrs. Washington’s arrival. The floor was swept, daily, and the faint odor of cooking fat that hung about the place vanished. The aides, as a general group, suddenly seemed better turned out, buttons mended with a capable hand, stains in shirts better attended and everyone’s laundry much more regularly done. Everyone’s language was suddenly moderated, the volume kept at a much lower extreme.

 

But by far the best change was in the General. It was as if with the arrival of his wife had also come the answers to all his untended questions. He was calmer, now, and with less care, a full five years gone from his face. The aides reported his moods improved, his judgements and decisions quicker and more certain.

 

At their next briefing, the fatigue and hopelessness that seemed to have been steadily creeping into their discussions had retreated considerably, and the General was a man renewed, closer to what Ben remembered before Trenton, the valiant leader ready to take on all comers. But when he reported this change to the ADCs, everyone seemed to take the observation with little surprise. “He takes breakfast with her, every morning,” Hamilton told him while he was waiting to collect the day’s reports and deliver his notes. “They discuss  _ everything _ .”

 

“And he takes her advice?” Ben wondered aloud.  _ The advice of a woman who’s never seen a battle?  _

 

“Why shouldn’t he? She knows the situations as well as he does -- and she knows him, too, how he thinks, how he judges. She’s a quick one, our Mrs. General. If he fell in battle tomorrow I’d take her as Commander in Chief over Lee or Gates or Arnold any day of the week.” Hamilton smiled at Ben’s confusion. “You’ll see,” he promised. “Spend a little time with her and you’ll see.”

 

Sincerely doubting that, Ben took the pile of reports for him to collate, and was just on his way out the door when someone tapped his shoulder. 

 

“Billy!” The General’s valet had a habit of moving nearly soundlessly around headquarters, the combined advantage of a lifetime in house service and soft-soled shoes in a house full of booted officers.

 

“Major, do you have a moment? She’d like to see you.” Billy Lee nodded over his shoulder up the stairs behind him, silently invoking the woman above.

 

Ben looked around, wondering if John Laurens or one of the others would appear from behind a wall and wildly pronounce the joke, but no such luck. He nodded, and followed Billy up the stairs to the small bedroom at the back of the house, waiting awkwardly on the top step as Billy knocked, listened, and then opened the door, gesturing him inside.

 

What had been an already tiny room was made still moreso by the addition of a lady’s traveling trunk, as well as a pair of chairs, and a person to sit in one of them. Mrs. Washington laid aside her knitting and stood as Ben stepped inside, smiling a graciously as though she were inviting him into her spacious and well appointed parlor at Mount Vernon. 

 

“Major Tallmadge.”

 

“Mrs. Washington.” Ben bowed as best as he was able, conscious that the ceiling was rather low. How did Washington tolerate this? The General was even taller than he!

 

“I trust my husband isn’t working you too hard?” She asked, gesturing for him to sit, which he did, feeling awkward for being in this most private of spaces -- his Commander in Chief’s bedroom.

 

“Never, madam, he is...most considerate, in his assignments.”

 

“Good.” She looked pleased. “He will work himself to madness, but I insist he let others get  _ some _ sleep, when they require it.” She smiled at her own joke, and Ben felt his heart warm with the simple joy in her face. He had not had the opportunity, when she had arrived, to study her face, but now, in the privacy of the sitting room, he could appreciate that while she was short in stature, she was strong in other ways -- the firm set of her mouth, and a deep intelligence about her eyes, a steady gaze that took in everything. Small she might be, but this, he was realizing, was not a woman who should be crossed.

 

“My husband seemed a little short with you, when we met the other day -- and then Billy Lee told me that your meeting with the General was cut short by my arrival,”  she went on, gazing up at him with calm, knowledgeable eyes. “And I wished to thank you, for your patience with him. Doubtless he was not in the best of moods that afternoon, waiting for me. The weather turned while we were at the inn and I was forced to make use of the sleigh, instead of our carriage -- and he will worry so when I travel.”

 

Ben felt his heart seize up. Mrs. Washington, apologizing for … interrupting a meeting? For her husband’s shortness with him? When she had traveled for two weeks over winter ground to come to a place like this, and for a day of that in the worst weather imaginable? She was apologizing for  _ that _ ?   “His concern is a credit to your value to him, ma’am,” he said, trying not to sound quite like the village idiot in the face of this incredible magnanimity.

 

“Yes, I suppose it is. Nevertheless, an apology is required.”

 

“Thank you, madam. The General works harder than all of us, and ... ought to be allowed some of the comforts of home.”

 

Martha smiled. “Ah,  _ home _ . A concept I’ve heard spoken well of in recent days. Though I feel like I’ve not been home for months. Where is home for you, Major Tallmadge?”

 

Home? Heavens, where was home? For months now ‘home’ had been a series of tents in a series of fields. He thought of ‘home’ and conjured only his bedroll and his desk. But she was asking before that. It seemed an age since he’d been there. “Ah...Setauket. On Long Island.”

 

She nodded as if she knew the place well. “And when were you last there?”

 

Ben considered, unsure. “Ah...two years, perhaps?”  _ No,  _ he remembered.  _ Shorter than that. You were in Setauket last year. Yes,  _ another part of his mind replied, _ to attack it. But that hardly counts as being ‘home’.  _ “It seems...a long time, anyway,” he added with a helpless kind of shrug. “Longer than that, even.”

 

“Is your family still there?”

 

“My father, yes,  and my younger brothers and sisters.” 

 

“I’ve a son, about your age,” she said, smiling as she studied his face. “Jack. He’s back in Virginia, with his wife, on their farm. I can’t imagine not seeing him for two years. Your father must miss you terribly.”

 

Ben thought back to the last time he’d seen his father -- on the shore of Devil’s Belt, just before boarding a whaleboat back to Connecticut.  _ Let me look at you.  _ His father’s handshake, his embrace, had seemed the greatest praise he’d ever received. Nathaniel Tallmadge hadn’t said it, but his son knew. __ It had been the first time his father had seen him in his uniform. And leaving him on that shore had been the hardest parting Ben had ever done -- for in his father’s eyes he was sure he had seen great love, but also great fear --  _ I lost your brother Samuel, and I might lose you.  _  “I’m sure of it, madam,” he replied, his throat dry. “When I was away at school, he wrote me nearly every week. He’s a minister -- wanted to make sure I didn’t run too wild.”

 

“We wrote Jackie nearly every week he was at school. Though it didn’t quite have the desired effect,” she remembered wistfully.  “He must be very proud of all you’ve done -- your father.”

 

Nathaniel Tallmadge had been many things in his son’s youth, but proud had never been a word Ben had used to describe his father’s feelings towards him. Even at school, with all his honors and commendations, Ben had always felt, reading his father’s letters full of encouragements to study hard, that there was something more he should have done.  Until that day on the beach. That had been a proud day for the Reverend Tallmadge -- the first time Ben could truly say he’d seen it in his father’s face. What would he think of the man his son had become, this leader of men, this gatherer of intelligence, this spymaster? Would he still be proud? “Truth be told, madam, I’m not sure he knows. The post to Long Island is…” Ben broke the sentence off with a general shrug.

 

“Yes, of course. Well, if you were  _ my _ son, I know  _ I _ should be proud.” Mrs. Washington’s smile was bright and sincere again, and for a moment Ben found himself wishing that she  _ had  _ been his mother. “The General speaks very highly of you, and your work.”

 

_ I am not your father.  _ He remembered those words as though Washington had said them yesterday  -- but Washington had no sons. John Parke Custis was Martha’s son, not his. _ And I am sure that pains him.  _ “Thank you, madam.”

 

“I make it a point to make sure all my husband’s aides are managed, while I am in camp for the winter -- my thanks for services rendered the rest of the year.” She said ‘managed’ with the air of someone who is both exasperated and excited by the prospect of such a job, which, Ben could only imagine, (having  himself lived for nearly four years in college boarding houses full of over-enthused young men) was quite the undertaking.  “I would consider it a great pleasure to count you in among that number, Major. You work as hard as they do, in the service of making my husband’s command easier.” She smiled, but this time it was not warm and friendly, but rather a little exasperated.“And one other thing -- you must stop this ‘madam’ business. I am Mrs. Washington, and should like to remain so. The others  _ will _ go on, but it makes me feel  _ old _ .”

 

The merry look in her eyes, and the complete trust that went with it, won him completely. Who could not love her? “Mrs. Washington.”

 

She smiled. “Now, I will tell you what I have told the others -- you must come to me if you have the least trouble with him. He is prone to moods, and sometimes does not remember how he speaks. And I shall reprimand him on your behalf.”

 

Ben tried to imagine the dainty woman before him disciplining the tall, stately Commander, and tried to refrain from smiling too widely at her offer, knowing, somehow, that she was in deadly earnest with it, and would doubtless discipline  _ him  _ if she found herself under-informed. “I will alert you immediately, ma -- Mrs. Washington.”

 

His self-correction made her beam. “Very well. My thanks again, Major Tallmadge -- and we hope to see more of you this winter.”

 

She rose from her chair, the interview clearly concluded, and Ben, too, rose, bowing and taking her hand in farewell, showing himself the door and closing it behind himself. Billy was long gone, and Ben made his way downstairs by himself, thinking over everything he’d just seen and heard. She had a rare way of consolation about her, he decided -- for she had said things he had not realized he needed to hear, listened and questioned about matters he had not thought he needed to give voice to.  That she should have noticed her husband’s agitation -- and his own, too, when she had only just met him! Perceptive, keen-eyed, kind. 

 

He stopped himself, realizing the tenor of his thoughts, and had to smile. He could almost feel Hamilton smirking at him from the back office. A scant ten minutes, and it was true -- he’d follow Mrs. General anywhere.

  
  



End file.
